None are more proud than Patton Oswalt’s fatter Mexican cousin to have gotten Mexico into this position leading into the match. How’s the match? Well, you know that bar fight that goes on forever between two large guys at the bar where they punch the living snot out of each other for what seems like forever but no one gets the girl in the end? That. Mexico try really hard and make Brazil run around a lot. Great cardio!

Well, just like you couldn’t be arsed to watch the games, I couldn’t be arsed to write about them in a timely fashion. Since you’ve read my first article giving you tips on how to survive the World Cup and not sound like a boob, here’s a summary of the first round of games from the groups. If you’re called on it, and you need to have a snap opinion on the Iran – Nigeria game (Hint: It was utter crap), I’ve given you all the high points so that you can all sound like the Sparta Prague-Supporting False-9-Loving Football Hipster that fans of the World Cup wish that they could be. Do not worry about what that last sentence meant. Read on.

Brazil 3-1 Croatia

Still stinging from the wreckage that was a JLo/Pitbull 1-2 punch that KOed the opening ceremonies, Brazil would start the month-long Soccer Showcase with a match against Croatia. The managers have different styles. Phil Scolari for Brazil looks like Gene Hackman desperately trying to track down a jury. Croatia are managed by a guy that looks like a modern-day Bond villain that would capsize the world’s economy and then burn down the White House with frickin’ lasers. Brazil, always the generous hosts, scored all the goals in this game for the guests. Croatia, put away yer shootin’ boots.

Admittedly, there are a numbered few out there that enjoy “The Beautiful Game” and look forward to the World Cup whenever it happens.

There are others among our complement that look forward to this about as much as a barbed-wire colonoscopy. There are a number of reasons. Hate the fans. Don’t like watching grown men tumbleweeding their way across the field after being brushed by a Kleenex in a look of gallstone-passing agony. And why don’t they use their damn hands?
You know you hate it, you feel smug about it, and will tell anyone who will listen about your abhorrence of the sport like an atheist two drinks in. But something inside you feels like you’re missing out, like when “Life of Pi” was a thing and you had to resort to conversational input like “Yeah…loved the tiger”.

That’s where I can help. Here’s some quick tips to let you still take cursory participation in office conversations about Bosnia and Herzegovina without asking “Seriously, is that a place or did you make it up?” Use these and it will make your month of Hell slide by like England’s chances of winning the thing.